Afternoon Bird Song
by Iseki
Summary: Vincent X Yuffie. 4 unrelated drabbles connected by a common reference, exploring the spectrum between hope and refusal.
1. His Flight

**His Flight**

Your hands are small with calluses in every place your weapon has touched since the day you could lift it over your head with your parents cheering proudly. They reach out to me like deft white birds. This vision holds me, not your pale dirt-streaked face, or the wound that pours crimson so lovely into the dark, but these tiny birds that quaver so slightly as if sensing my temptation to grasp them firmly. In turn I reach towards them, but the gaudy and shining sharpened digits break into my vision and bile rises to my throat. I walk past you swiftly ignoring the look of intense hurt and anger flash in your eyes before clouding over with fatigue and carrying you ungracefully to the ground.

In another world I am clean and careful, with two fleshly hands that hold you closely every night as if you might disappear.

You are still brave and rash but there is no reason for you to dirty your name with stealing from those that would call you "friend." Together we live a very mundane life full of mundane pleasures and gifts we take for granted. In another world I would not walk away while you lie fading, because I am not so foul or so bloodstained. And in another world you might not have gratefully received such a blow on my account because you would have no interest in someone who poses no threat; careless as you are.

In the dark, on a journey that takes me so close to the edges of my sanity, I smile. Because thinking of the other me and the other you, I feel a little less bitter.


	2. His Wish

**His Wish**

On the hand of Da Chao with her legs dangling thousands of feet above the rest of the mountain rocks Yuffie sits folding white paper stars and dropping them like lifesavers for drowning invisible sailors in the air. She is thinking of her mother, with her strong jaw, finely groomed hair, and delicious bedtime stories. These were not bedtime stories that one might typically tell a blossoming young princess, but stories you might tell around a blazing fire among comrades. She sends another star spinning with the slow long whistle. Pirates would capture pretty ladies and rob them of their pride. A ninja might be ruthless and quick to slit a throat but reaping the innocent was not part of their reputation. At least not her mother's definition of ninja.

In the capital of Wutai below her friends are browsing the local shops and enjoying a taste of the culture. Her lip curls ironically. So much culture had been lost in the war, and it was a sluggish recovery. Another star floated away; a prayer for Wutai. She thinks of the past and dreams for the future.

Below white shapes are blinking through the sunlight, and catching his eye. His thoughts are far away with a girl in love, clad in shorts and clumsy bruises. Vincent sits on a bench hidden among the paths and gardens of the palace watched by the mountain where a paper star tumbles into his lap, and he thinks that hope looks like a white feathered bird in the sky.


	3. Her Flight

**Her Flight**

I am the clever lock-pick. You install the locks on your humble house only to entertain me for a few minutes. I can't blame you; I get bored very easily. But today you have no time for it and you open the door to me before I've even got the pointy end of my shuriken in it. I usher myself in like I usually do because you expect it, and there is already tea waiting for me; green and strong. Today I'm feeling sweet so I give it two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. You're looking especially serious and you haven't even said "hello," so I tell you exactly that.

"What's up Vincent? You've lost your shoe polish? Something's pinching you in a place you'd rather not mention? You've got a stalker? You ARE a stalker? You're getting annoying junk mail about politics?"

My guesses are all wrong of course, but you don't seem to have the ability to crack even a half-smile today. Your skin is white. Like porcelain. Or maybe it's your hair like spilled ink that makes it look that way. I can be awesomely observant now and then. Your mouth moves without any sound and I've never seen you this upset before, and that gets me nervous. Your eyes are scrutinizing me so intensely it's like warm fire and I need to look away. I take a huge swallow of my tea and choke on it, and you take this hideous and awkward and downright _stupid_ chance to tell me exactly what's been on your mind. Now I am staring, and I hear a bird cry in the silent distance only to realize that it was me that made the sound.

I don't know why. Maybe it was because I never thought that I would ever receive such a confession, or maybe it was because that confession came so honestly from your lips. Maybe it was because I'm such a damn coward sometimes and when I see you struggling with some internal conflict I think that I can't possibly measure up and fight with you. Whatever it was, I walked to the door as if in a dream listening to my cup shatter on the floor behind me and I did what I'm very good at: I ran. And running has never felt so bad.


	4. Her Wish

**Her Wish**

On the outskirts of Edge, Vincent had been assigned to recon for the first time. He supposes that this might have been Reeve's idea of a holiday, or at least the chance to relax. He was not one to depreciate the gesture and he carried the work out determinedly. Only when they are interrupted by an elderly woman and her young grandson with a basket fruit and biscuits does he allow the team to take the well deserved break.

The weather is balmy and he finds a sunny spot not too far from the others to appreciate the color of an overripe strawberry. Far back he thinks he can almost remember his first taste of the fruit, but the memories are foggy with disuse. Before he can think very much of it, the strawberry is snatched from his fingers with the precision of a sea bird catching a fish and lifted between full smiling lips. He is no longer surprised by her abrupt appearances; in fact some part of him finds relief in them. At least when she is by his side she is not creating danger for herself.

Yuffie takes a moment to register his smile and wipes red away from her mouth onto the back of her hand. Seating herself beside him she gets the conversation rolling by making a gibe about the work and he is unexpectedly vocal. The sun vanishes behind a cloud and a cool breeze graces their uncovered skin. Her knee is brushed against his thigh and she tries not to give too much attention to the warmth of it.

They both eat another strawberry and share a sense of peace. When he looks back at her she can't help but burst into a fit of inane laughter, and even when he becomes distressed she is clutching at her sides with tears in her eyes. It's moments like these that help her to realize that she wants more, that he might not mind it so much, and that she's got one heck of an awkward conversation ahead. She takes his hand roughly and tries unsuccessfully to feed him another strawberry.

_A/N: Firstly may I apologize for any hurt that I've caused you in the Flight chapters, although it was entirely my intention. I really wanted to take a step away from my normal writing habits, and I hope that it didn't come across too strangely. I wanted the contrast between the situations to be great, and I'm pretty pleased with the final product. Thank you for reading! Reviews feed my writing. xx_


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